Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Merwin and the End of Autumn

It began as terribly as any ordeal by airline ever does, short of the airplane actually crashing; we arrived at our local airport after an hour's drive through the Ohio countryside to find that our first flight was delayed. When it was still delayed, we were moved to another gate. Once we finally got on the plane, sitting with our legs up on the carry-on bags that almost but not entirely fit under the seats in front of us, there was another delay as the ground crew figured out that the weight on our plane was not balanced, that they had no ballast to correct this, and that three passengers would have to get off. Finally they ousted some people and we got in the line to take off, arriving at a different airport twenty minutes before our next flight. But we would not be on it; no, we would still be standing in the aisle waiting for an airport employee to stroll over and push the button to extend the skyway. My daughter shouted helpfully toward the front "open the door and I'll jump!" but her voice went disregarded. Despite our no-doubt-entertaining sprint for the connecting gate on a different concourse, we missed our connection. We did arrive at our destination airport right before the rental car counter closed, and then proceeded to drive down strangely deserted highways under a vast, starry sky for a little more than an hour until we found our motel, looking as if it stood alone in the darkness of the middle of the prairie.

That was how I spent the first weekend after the high school marching band season with my daughter, visiting the college she's most seriously considering. Early decision applications are due next week, so the beginning of November marks the end of any more consideration; it's time to submit.

Our trip back from the college visit went as well as any airline adventure ever can--our flights were on time, and our connecting gate was right next door to the gate we came in, adjacent to a restroom and a small restaurant. When we got back to our local airport, we watched the carousel go around for less than half its circle before our checked bag appeared in front of us. We made it home with plenty of time to get to the W.S. Merwin reading at our local college.

He read--I think "sonorously" is the best word for it. Although I'd been looking forward to this event for months, it took on a dreamlike quality; I would hear the beginning of one of the poems I'd liked best from one of his many volumes and would drift off into contemplation of a word, a line, an image. I think I dreamed a sort of unity between three of his poems and the "too soon autumn" theme I have had going on here since the beginning of September. So I will present you with the three, as another way to mark the end of autumn.

I think of this one with our initial journey late into the prairie night:

Lights Out

The old grieving autumn goes on calling to its summerthe valley is calling to other valleys beyond the ridgeeach star is roaring alone into darknessthere is not a sound in the whole night

Isn't that lovely personification? Of course I love the image of the old grieving autumn--it's me--here I am, sampling the bittersweet fruits of having raised a child to be self-sufficient enough to move away.

The next one seems to me to be related because it describes something of how I feel about the end of daylight savings time at the end of this particular autumn:

Long Afternoon Light

Small roads written in sleep in the foothillshow long ago and I believed you were lostwith the bronze then deepening in the lightand the shy moss turning to itself holdingits own brightness above the badger's pathwhile a single crow sailed west without a soundwe trust without giving it a thoughtthat we will always see it as we see itonce and that what we know is onlya moment of what is ours and will staywe believe it as the moment slips awayas lengthening shadows merge in the valleyand a window kindles there like a first starwhat we see again comes to us in secret

Yes, overlaid on this fall is the memory of my first fall away from home at college, and the lengthening shadow of Eleanor's first fall away from me. I am going to be only a window kindled in the darkness, a first star, a point to measure the length of her journey.

But there are so many pleasures in the company of an increasingly adult daughter, and in the conversation of the first person I ever had a hand in helping to grow to her full autumnal glory--it was for her that I learned to buy clothing in shades of gold and brown, the colors that suit her best. She is like

One of the Butterflies

The trouble with pleasure is the timingit can overtake me without warningand be gone before I know it is hereit can stand facing me unrecognizedwhile I am remembering somewhere elsein another age or someone not seenfor years and never to be seen againin this world and it seems that I cherishonly now a joy I was not aware ofwhen it was here although it remainsout of reach and will not be caught or namedor called back and if I could make it stayas I want to it would turn into pain

She will not be called back. If I could make her stay as I want to it would turn into pain. It's the pleasure of this moment, the beauty of the butterfly in flight, that, like the autumn, has reached a musical pitch that continues straining forward and forward towards what eventually turns into distance.

11 comments:

That was lovely, Jeanne. I am already worrying about that point in our lives, which we seem to be racing toward at top speed. I was not too familiar with Merwin previously. I like the second poem especially.

I'm viewing where you are from the point in time of having already gone through it. So I like reading what you are thinking/feeling now about all that. It takes me back 10 years and I remember how my sons were then.

There's even more sweet to come. I do love this stage of motherhood a lot. They are full on adults, complete with wives and jobs and all the stuff that comes with those things. I loved them as children, and to my surprise, I love them even more as adults.

Harriet, the second poem is one of his least abstract. I find you have to live with his poems for a bit before you grow to really love them. Hmm, there's a metaphor.

Amanda, eventful is one way to put it. This was my daughter's second trip, but my first. I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around the idea of leaving her there.

Gavin, the vast, starry sky really was wondrous--we were in Iowa. Wow, I didn't know Merwin read in public that much. Considering his age and how far you'll go to see a favorite, though, I can imagine you'd have had at least a few opportunities!

FreshHell, the third is my favorite.

Trapunto, sometimes it does feel like we're in a novella or something. My son likes to make little observations, like "if we were in a movie, what you just said would mean this..." and today I said "it DOES mean that." It's the cliched way I keep reacting.

Elizabeth, and you lived through it! And your sons still speak to you! Gives me hope.

ReadersGuide, you're a woman of fewer words than some, so it makes sense to me that you'd appreciate the first poem.

Your trip sounds nightmarish, but it's one you'll always remember when your daughter is off at college. I like the third poem best, because it touchs on things I'm always struggling with like living in the moment and avoiding excessive reminiscing. But I like you description of your relationship with your daughter even better. Who would have guessed you'd produce a child who looks best in autumn colours, knowing how strongly you want to resist the season!

Jodie, I hadn't thought of the autumn colors that look best on her as an irony, but now that you point it out, yeah.It actually took me a while to learn to shop for her--my eye goes first to anything in red, which I look great in... and which makes her look, quite literally, sick. There is no irony in the fact that I look terrible in anything brown or gold, is there?!

Just Say No to Necromancy

My family was playing "Would You Rather" and got a card asking whether we'd rather have three questions answered or be able to resurrect someone. The kids and I went for the three questions, but Ron was hesitating over resurrection. "Oh come on," I said, "necromancy never pays; literature shows us this over and over.""Oh yeah," Ron said, "The Monkey's Paw."And then we went on to the next card. Some things are just clear, once you remember all the stuff you've read about them.

Why Should You Comment?

Because you don't want to be what Georgia Nicholson calls a "lurker."Because I'd love to hear if you disagree with me on anything, especially The Spoiler Manifesto, and I'm always looking for more book recommendations.I welcome comments on older posts, but have to moderate them due to immoderate levels of spam.